


With Your Head Held High

by KaelinaLovesLomaris



Series: Whumptober 2019 - FFXV [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ardyn is a creeper, Branding, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Prisoner of War, Public Humiliation, Regis is a good dad, Rescue Missions, Self-Sacrifice, Torture, Video Game Mechanics, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, but he's also trying to be a good king, those don't always play well together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22446826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelinaLovesLomaris/pseuds/KaelinaLovesLomaris
Summary: Ardyn decides he wants to defy the Astrals one last time and see how far he can push them before they intervene to put Noctis back in a position to fulfill the prophecy.ORInstead of Ardyn arranging Noctis and Luna’s wedding as a part of the peace treaty, he demands Noctis as a prisoner of war.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum
Series: Whumptober 2019 - FFXV [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505405
Comments: 49
Kudos: 142





	1. Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> Day 25 Prompt: Humiliation
> 
> This is the first chapter of what is going to be at _least_ a three chapter thing. It started as a Whumptober thing and just... exploded into this monstrosity. It's going to be well over 10k words in just the first two chapters, so I decided to split it, and then a sequel/continuation idea reared its head. So yeah. I don't know how far I'm going to take it, but it's off and running and I'm just trying to catch up to it.

It was pure chance that Noctis learned the chancellor of Niflheim was in the Citadel, _while_ he was still in the Citadel. Ignis had been keeping his ear to the ground for any rumors that might circulate in the wake of the ceasefire, and the Glaives who had been pulled back from the frontlines were more chatty than the Crownsguard usually were. And despite Noctis’s usual lack of interest in most things politics, something as big as a potential end to the war had piqued his curiosity. Especially considering the effect it could have on the Wall and his dad’s, and later his own, health.

So Noctis kept his own ears open, and when he heard a whisper that the chancellor had barged his way into Regis’s council meeting and was _still there_ , he didn’t wait long enough to contact Ignis before making his way as quickly as he could without drawing extra attention to himself to the hallway outside the throne room.

The guards stationed on either side of the double doors frowned at him as he sidled up to the doors but didn’t otherwise protest or try to stop him. He was sure they would if he tried to actually _enter_ the throne room, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

Noctis pressed his ear up against the crack between the doors and tried to listen.

An unfamiliar voice was speaking, with enough of a pompous ring of command that Noctis knew it could only be the Imperial chancellor.

“ - wish nothing more than to bring a swift end to this senseless war.” Was the chancellor seriously offering a _peace treaty_?

“Is that so?” His dad’s voice was as dry as Noctis had ever heard it without taking the last step over into impoliteness, and he knew his own disbelief was mirrored in Regis’s mind. It seemed… a poor tactical decision for Niflheim, considering how badly Lucis was doing in the war. There had to be an ulterior motive, and whatever it was would certainly not be good for Lucis.

“It is indeed. And we require but a singular compliance.” And here it was. The moment of hesitation before speaking said compliance, though really no longer than a breath, seemed an eternity, and it was long enough for Noctis to think up half a dozen awful things. “Save your grand Insomnia here, Lucis must forfeit all territories to Niflheim rule.”

Noctis bit down hard on his lip to keep from gasping. The murmurs of his dad’s Council were audible through the door as they didn’t bother to restrain their reactions as Noctis had done. Unsurprisingly. That was _definitely_ not good for Lucis, and really, as far as an offer of peace went, it was a pretty bad one. It wasn’t a peace treaty at all, but rather a sugar-coated demand for surrender.

The Council’s muttering cut off, and Noctis knew Regis had called for silence, just in time for the chancellor to mockingly wax eloquent about the glory of the Crown City. Noctis gritted his teeth at the man’s nerve and thanked the Six that he wasn’t inside the throne room so he couldn’t be tempted to throw a punch at the chancellor and cause an international incident.

Before Noctis’s anger could solidify back into worry for what this ultimatum meant for Lucis, the chancellor spoke again.

“Ah, how foolish of me to forget. There is just one more _trivial_ thing. It concerns your son.”

Noctis froze, his breath stuttering in his lungs. Nothing Niflheim could want with him would ever be “trivial” as far as he was concerned. He didn’t even _want_ to speculate what this could be.

“Crown Prince Noctis will be handed over to the Empire as a prisoner of war.”

He barely heard the Council’s cries of outrage over his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. This could not be happening.

His dad’s voice rose above the cacophony, and Noctis latched onto it to try and ground himself.

“Under no circumstances will you be taking my son. He is the sole heir to this kingdom. I am willing to negotiate peace with Niflheim, but Noctis _will not_ be a part of it.” Intense gratitude swelled up in Noctis, though it was not enough to completely wipe away the shock of the demand. He didn’t realize until _after_ his dad had denied it so vehemently that some part of him had been worried he would _agree_ to it, as ridiculous as that thought was. He knew Regis would just about fight Bahamut himself if he thought it would protect Noctis.

“Do not dismiss my offer so quickly, Your Majesty. You do not know if another will ever be extended. Your own position in this war is a tenuous one, and there are more things at stake here than your son. Or would you put him above the needs of your entire kingdom? Think on it before you make a rash decision.”

Noctis was going to be sick. He didn’t need to be able to see the expression on the chancellor’s face to hear the note of gloating in his voice. The chancellor knew Niflheim had them cornered, and somehow he had realized that Noctis was his dad’s weakness. Then again, most of the kingdom knew that. It wouldn’t take more than a quick glance at how Regis had handled Noctis over the years to realize that Regis would do just about anything for his son. Despite the Council’s repeated warnings, Noctis had never guessed how dangerous that would end up being, never imagined it would lead to Niflheim demanding him as part of a treaty.

But if the chancellor knew that asking for Noctis would work _against_ the terms of surrender, since Noctis refused to consider them terms of _peace_ , why would he do it? Why offer terms that were so one-sided they were guaranteed to be denied? What could he hope to gain?

Footsteps from the throne room pulled Noctis away from his musings, and he scrambled back from the door when he realized the chancellor was leaving, his mind still reeling in shock. Despite his unsteadiness, he managed to round the nearest corner in the hallway before the chancellor exited the throne room, not paying attention to _where_ he was going, just wanting to get _away_ before the man caught sight of him. A private conversation with the chancellor of Niflheim was not high on his list of desires, especially after what he’d just overheard.

He stopped as soon as he was out of sight, closing his eyes as he worked to regain control of himself. He couldn’t afford to be this panicky, otherwise someone, namely Ignis, was bound to ask him what was wrong, and he really didn’t want to have to explain. Not yet. Not ever, if he could help it. Regis had shut the chancellor down in no uncertain terms, and hopefully that would be the end of it, despite the chancellor’s parting barb. Maybe, in a few years, he could forget that this had ever happened.

Noctis was too preoccupied with calming his breathing to notice the soft approaching tap of shoes against the marble flooring until it was too late. He whirled around as his magic prickled in warning just in time to see the chancellor sashay around the corner.

Or at least, Noctis could only _assume_ that was the chancellor. He was certainly no one Noctis recognized, and he would remember if he had ever met someone who dressed like _that_. Too many layers of outdated clothes in clashing prints under an over-dramatic coat, with a ratty hat perched on top of wild magenta hair. Even Prompto’s eccentric wardrobe couldn’t hold a candle to this. Noctis curled his lip in disgust.

The chancellor paused as he caught sight of Noctis, one corner of his lips twitching up in a smirk. He altered his trajectory and sauntered over to Noctis.

“If it isn’t the crown prince in question!” he said, his voice far too cheery for Noctis’s taste, considering the circumstances. Noctis scowled. He had to force himself not to retreat as the chancellor invaded his personal space.

“Oh my, from your expression I’d guess you overheard at least part of my proposition. Tell me, Noct, just how much did you overhear?” His grin was sharp as Noctis growled at the use of the nickname.

“You don’t get to call me that,” he said. And oh, how Ignis would be appalled at his lack of manners, but the chancellor had done nothing to earn his respect, and even less to earn the right to use his _nickname_.

“Now, now, Your Highness. You and I are going to have the chance to get to know each other much better.” The expression in the chancellor’s amber eyes was unsettling as he raked his gaze over Noctis. He barely fought back a shiver.

“I overheard enough to know His Majesty told you exactly where you could put your _proposition_ ,” Noctis snarled.

The chancellor stepped closer suddenly, and Noctis jerked away from him, continuing to retreat as the man crowded him until his back hit the wall.

“Dear old Dad refused to hand you over, it’s true. But this is the one thing I will not compromise on.” He gripped Noctis’s chin, thumb brushing against his cheek for a moment, so briefly Noctis wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it, and forced him to make eye contact. His eyes burned with a crazed fervor, and his voice dropped lower, losing most of its playful edge. “Whether you surrender as part of these negotiations or are captured when we raze Insomnia, the Empire _will_ have you. All of our Magitek Troops have been programmed to take you alive.”

Noctis’s breath caught in his throat. That was unheard of, and he was almost tempted to think that the man was lying, or bluffing, or just trying to get under Noctis’s skin, but he knew he wasn’t.

The chancellor laughed suddenly, the manic look fading from his eyes, and released Noctis’s chin. He took a step back out of his space, spreading his arms wide.

“So I suggest you give my offer some thought, Your Highness. You have two days to make a decision before any offer of peace is rescinded and the ceasefire comes to an end.” He gave Noctis a shallow, mocking bow before turning and leaving.

Noctis waited until he was out of sight before letting his legs collapse under him. He slid down the wall, trembling as he hid his face in his hands, and worked his jaw to rid himself of the feeling of the chancellor’s grip on his chin. He had already been unsettled enough, learning that Niflheim wanted him as part of the negotiations, but now it was _worse_. Much worse.

 _That’s what you get for eavesdropping,_ he thought. If he had left well enough alone, he wouldn’t have been in the hallway to give the chancellor the opportunity to accost him. But maybe it was better that he knew exactly how much Niflheim, or maybe it was just the chancellor himself, wanted him.

Noctis frowned. The chancellor had said that Noctis was the part he was unwilling to compromise on. Which would imply that the rest of the offer _was_ compromisable. And suddenly the one-sidedness of the offer made a little bit more sense. He felt sick even contemplating it, especially not knowing what exactly Niflheim wanted him _for_ , but it wasn’t like he was doing a good job as crown prince anyways. He was a worthless prince and would be a worthless king, so if this was the one way he could help his people…

Noctis raised his head, glad to see that the hallway was still blessedly empty, and pushed himself up. He needed to talk to his dad.

* * *

“Absolutely not.”

Noctis had gone straight to his dad’s office and holed up there while he waited for him to finish his meeting with the Council. He had been tense the entire time, startling whenever he heard footsteps in the hallway, half expecting the chancellor to barge in and just drag him off. But no one had opened the door until Regis, the distinctive tapping of his cane enough to keep Noctis from actually pulling a sword from the Armiger the moment the doorknob turned.

Any surprise his dad might have felt at finding Noctis in his office had been eclipsed by concern, and maybe a touch of anger, when Noctis had brought up the chancellor’s offer and his own reasons for seeking Regis out.

“Dad, I -”

“No, Noctis. I am not giving you to Niflheim, and especially not to that _chancellor_.” Regis spat the title, gripping the arms of his chair tightly. Noctis could see the tension in his hands, the clench of his jaw, and knew exactly how stubborn he was going to be about this.

It felt wrong, to be arguing for his own captivity. He wanted so badly to simply hide behind Regis’s refusal, to let his dad protect him, pretend he had never heard the chancellor’s threats and let the war continue as it had for centuries already. But they were losing, everyone knew it, and the Empire would never stop until Lucis was under their heel like the rest of the world already was.

He was not fit to rule, but maybe he was fit to sacrifice himself for his people. Maybe with this he could prove that he _wasn’t_ worthless, or lazy, or self-absorbed, or whatever it was the tabloids were calling him these days. If it was his life held against the lives of the Kingsglaive and all the other Lucian citizens affected by the war…

“You’re sacrificing _your_ life for this kingdom,” he muttered, gesturing bitterly at his dad’s hand, at the Ring of the Lucii where it sat heavy and dark on Regis’s finger. Regis curled his hand into a fist.

“This is not the same thing, Noctis,” he said gently. He smiled, the anger in his eyes softening to sorrow. “You do not need to prove anything to me, or to anyone. I know the burden of the crown is not easy. I know you have struggled to meet your own expectations, perhaps even to live up to whatever standard you think I have set, and I must apologize for any part I may have played in that, but you are doing _well_. You can ignore the tabloids, they will grasp at any strand they can find or fabricate to sow doubt among the people. But the people will realize, in time. You do not have to throw your life away needlessly.”

“That’s not what this is about!” Noctis protested, even though his dad’s words were an echo of his earlier thoughts. Regis knew him, and his doubts, so well.

“Then what is it? Why are you so determined to sacrifice yourself?”

Noctis looked away, unable to meet his dad’s concerned eyes. “The chancellor met me in the hallway,” he said, “on his way out of the throne room. He threatened me.” He glanced up to catch Regis’s reaction.

“He did _what_?” Regis growled. His eyes flashed, and Noctis flinched, even knowing the surge of anger was in no way directed at him.

“He told me the Empire would get their hands on me regardless, even if we refuse the terms. He said all the MTs have been programmed to take me alive, and that my surrender was non-negotiable for the treaty.” Noctis could barely hear his own voice. “He said we have two days to decide.”

And that was the driving factor behind Noctis’s decision. He could run, of course, leave Insomnia, try to escape the Empire’s clutches before they attacked the Crown City, and maybe he would even succeed, but what kind of prince, what kind of _king_ would that make him? It was likely Niflheim _would_ capture him eventually. They controlled most of Eos and there were enough people who would be desperate enough to turn him in for whatever bounty they set on his head. He would be a fugitive, unable to trust anyone, and what kind of life would that be? It might be better to head it off entirely, get it over with, and maybe save as many of his people as he could in the process.

Regis stood, walking around the edge of his desk to stand in front of Noctis. Noctis tried not to notice the faint tremble in his dad’s hand as it clutched his cane. Ending the war sooner also meant that his dad could bring down the Wall, could stop letting the Crystal drain his magic and his very life. Noctis considered his own freedom, or even his own life, a small price to pay for that.

“What else are you not telling me, son?” Regis asked quietly. Noctis looked down at his feet. This would be the hardest part.

“It seemed...” Noctis trailed off. He groaned, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to find the words to say without sounding conceited. “Oh, this is so stupid, but it seemed like I wasn’t just something to sweeten the pot. Like I was the _reason_ for all this. I know it doesn’t make sense, it’s stupid, Niflheim has wanted our lands for centuries, but the way he _looked_ at me… And why else would he demand too much from us and then make a point to say that _I_ was the non-negotiable part?” He was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of the chancellor’s fingers on his chin, his eyes raking over his face, and he was _so scared_.

If he had said this to anyone other than his dad or Ignis or Prompto, he knew it would be brushed off as him thinking too highly of himself. Even Gladio would probably tell him to stop reading that much into it. It wasn’t that out of the ordinary to demand a royal heir as a prisoner of war. Luna had been held under Imperial control since Niflheim had taken Tenebrae twelve years prior, and Ravus was now a member of their military. It was probably _nothing_ , but there had been something so _personal_ in the chancellor’s voice.

But Regis knew him, knew his insecurities, had guessed at part of the reason Noctis was even contemplating going along with Niflheim’s demands, knew Noctis wouldn’t even be suggesting something like this if he didn’t truly believe it. He wouldn’t brush it off as a plea for attention, but still Noctis felt ashamed for even bringing it up.

He opened his mouth to tell his dad to forget it, but Regis grasped his hand, cutting him off.

“Noctis, you are the Chosen King.” There was a flash of some pained emotion in his eyes as he said it, too quick for Noctis to catch or identify. “We have tried to keep this quiet, but if the Empire has learned, then they must know just how much of a threat you really are to them. Taking you, removing you from the equation, puts them that much closer to victory. Even if you were not the Chosen, taking Lucis’s only heir would be enough of a blow. This kingdom will end with me. Even if I appoint a political successor, they cannot wield the Ring, cannot access the Crystal’s magic. Without the Wall, Lucis will fall.”

Regis brought his hand up, gently cupping the side of Noctis’s face. Noctis closed his eyes and tilted his head into the touch.

“I should have stayed away. I should not have been there, should not have given him the chance to threaten us further.”

“Noctis,” Regis murmured. “If Niflheim, if Chancellor Izunia, wants you this badly, they would have found a way to threaten this regardless.”

Noctis pulled away from his dad’s hand.

“I just don’t understand. Wanting me as a bargaining chip, as some sort of insurance as part of peace negotiations, that I understand. But to go so far as to have every single MT programmed to take me alive, to threaten to come after me even if Insomnia falls, _why_? What could he possibly hope to gain?”

Regis’s brow creased. “That I cannot answer. There is too much we do not know about this situation, and none of the uncertainties bode well for you, or for our kingdom.”

Noctis took a breath, steeling himself against what he was about to suggest. Once he voiced this, there was no going back, and he was tempted to just keep his mouth shut, but he would never be able to forgive himself if he had the chance to do something now and didn’t take it and his kingdom suffered because of it.

“It might… give us an opportunity,” he said, the words ashes in his mouth.

“Noctis…”

“No, listen to me. He said _I’m_ the part he refuses to compromise on. So that means the rest we can negotiate. We can counter with them taking me,” Noctis swallowed, trying hard not to think about what that meant, “and they can keep whatever lands they’ve already fully conquered, but we retain control of Insomnia, Leide, Cleigne, and Duscae, maybe even push for the return of Galahd and the rest of the Cavaugh region, and they withdraw their troops from those territories.” He doubted Niflheim would agree to all of that, but it gave them a place to start and negotiate down from.

It was also likely his dad had already thought of this, or something similar. Unlike Regis, Noctis had never had much of a head for politics or negotiations or strategy, that was what he had Ignis for, so if _he_ had realized the significance of the chancellor’s words, surely his dad had as well. But he knew his dad would never suggest it himself. Noctis knew that in some ways, _many_ ways, Regis put Noctis ahead of Lucis, as the chancellor had taunted, and it did nothing but add to Noctis’s feelings of guilt.

Regis sighed. “It… has merit,” he admitted, and it sounded like it pained him to do so. “However, it will just lead to Niflheim playing a long game with us, even if they honor the terms of the treaty. Once I die, Lucis will be left without a king, and they will be free to conquer our kingdom without much opposition.”

Noctis grimaced. He hated being reminded of his dad’s mortality, but it was necessary to consider in these circumstances.

“So appoint Ignis as your successor. We all know he was going to be the real power behind my throne anyways. He’d make a good king, even without the use of the Ring, and that will at least allow Lucis political stability.”

Regis regarded him carefully. “Just how much thought have you put into this?”

“Enough,” Noctis said. “I had little else to do while waiting for you, and I knew you wouldn’t consider it unless you thought I’d given it the proper amount of consideration.” And that was true, though really it had just been his way of occupying himself so he didn’t dwell on the predatory look in the chancellor’s eyes.

His dad bowed his head. “I would never force this on you, indeed everything in me falters at the thought of even considering this, and perhaps that makes me a bad king. But if this is how you truly wish for us to proceed, I will honor that. This is far more your sacrifice, and therefore your decision, than mine.”

Noctis snorted. “Of course it’s not what I _want_ , but it’s what’s right for our people, and so far I’ve done nothing for them with my life.”

“Noctis,” Regis chided, a note of exasperated fondness in his voice. “You have simply not yet been given the opportunity.”

“Then I’ll take this as my first opportunity,” Noctis said. He pushed down the panic that was clawing in his chest. As much as he had fought for it, he had half hoped his dad would put his foot down on his plan, take the burden of the choice off of him, as he had in the throne room. Noctis suspected the chancellor’s dig had done its job.

Regis rested his hand against Noctis’s cheek again and leaned down to press his forehead against Noctis’s. “You do not have to go through with this. We will carry on as we always have if the ceasefire ends. You will have another chance to do something for your people. The first opportunity is not always the right one.”

This time it was Regis who pulled away, just enough to catch Noctis’s eyes and hold them. “You are destined for great things. You have been Chosen by the Crystal to rid the world of Darkness, and the Astrals will not let you fall until you have fulfilled their prophecy.”

“So, what, you think Bahamut himself will intervene when Niflheim tries to execute me the moment they get me back to Gralea?” Noctis scoffed. “Since when have they cared enough about us, or even their ‘Chosen,’ to interfere? They certainly didn’t stop the Marilith from nearly killing me.”

Regis frowned. “Noctis…” he sighed. He slid the hand on Noctis’s cheek higher so his fingers carded through Noctis’s hair, and despite his frustration, the touch was soothing. It was rare that his dad allowed his affection to spill over into physical contact, so Noctis treasured the moments when he did. And even though he knew it was exactly why Regis was doing it now, Noctis still allowed it to placate him.

He didn’t know how many more times he would have this. If he turned himself over to Niflheim, he would likely never see his dad again. Even if he _wasn’t_ executed immediately, he would certainly never be permitted any sort of freedom, and it wasn’t as though Regis could or should just _drop by_ for a State visit.

Noctis felt his resolve start to crumble as his dad continued to run his fingers gently through his hair. And maybe that was part of his intent with the gesture as well, but then why allow Noctis to make the decision at all if he wanted to dissuade him so badly? It wasn’t as though Regis didn’t outrank Noctis, their familial hierarchy notwithstanding, and he’d never had a problem telling Noctis “no” before.

“Forgive me, my son,” Regis murmured. “Would that protecting you was my only charge. You are the most important thing to my heart.”

Noctis could no longer meet his dad’s overly bright gaze, afraid that the sight of his sorrow would be the final thing to shatter what was left of his determination. He turned his head away, hating that the motion disrupted his dad’s gentle stroking of his hair. Regis’s hand fell away.

They stood in silence for a long moment, Noctis keeping his face downturned, until Regis sighed. There was a rustle of cloth, and then his hand rested on the back of Noctis’s neck, fingers curling in the short strands of hair, and he coaxed Noctis closer until Noctis’s face was pressed into his dad’s shoulder.

Noctis wrapped his arms around his dad, clinging to him tighter than he had since he’d been eight, and finally let his tears fall. He could be strong later, when he wasn’t in his dad’s embrace, and if he didn’t cry now, he would later, when he probably shouldn’t.

Regis stroked his hair tenderly for a moment longer before moving his arm to reciprocate the hug, his other hand still clutching at his cane. Noctis sobbed at the brush of Regis’s lips against the top of his head, and it was suddenly too much.

“I can’t do this,” he gasped into the thick fabric of Regis’s cape before he could stop himself. “I can’t, Dad, not on my own. _Please_.”

Regis’s breath hitched, and his arm tightened around Noctis.

“I will not order you to do this. I _cannot_.” His voice broke on the last word. “I’m so sorry.”

“Then order me not to,” Noctis begged, half hoping his dad wouldn’t hear it, muffled by his shoulder as it was, but of course he did.

“Noctis, I -” Regis stopped, his arm tightening around him again, and Noctis felt a tear drip onto his hair. “My love, I want nothing more -”

Noctis shook his head furiously, hating himself for selfishly putting his dad in this situation. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“Stop,” he choked. “Stop, I know.” He broke away from the embrace and kept his head down to avoid looking at Regis, wiping at his eyes to get rid of the tears.

He couldn’t imagine this would be an easy decision to make. As difficult as it was for him, it was only his own life he was bartering. For Regis, it would be the life of his only son, and the horror of having to choose between his kingdom and the last of his family. The choice between being a good king or a good father, and wasn’t that what Regis struggled with daily?

Noctis knew that Regis wouldn’t hesitate to offer his own life up in Noctis’s place, but if their roles were reversed, would Noctis be able to hand his dad over to Niflheim? He didn’t think he could, even if he knew it would be the best option for the kingdom.

Suddenly Regis’s earlier reluctance to either agree or forbid made a lot more sense. With Noctis himself willing, he had given his dad an avenue to save the kingdom, and Regis could not, as a good king, decline, as much as his heart might ache to. And as much as Noctis had been hoping Regis would command him one way or the other, take the choice out of his hands, he realized Regis was also hoping Noctis would decide so he didn’t have to.

Noctis couldn’t make it harder on him. The guilt of this would weigh on Regis heavy enough as it was; Noctis didn’t need to add to it. He would never forgive himself if he did, no matter how long or short the rest of his life was.

Noctis took a deep, steadying breath and finally looked up to meet his dad’s gaze, ignoring the pain in his eyes and the tear tracks down his cheeks. He straightened his shoulders, pushing down the terror that threatened to rise back up in him.

“I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Niflheim invaded the Lucian outlands in the Great War after Mors pulled back the Wall and they established bases there, but the territories were not officially annexed by Niflheim until Insomnia fell, and considering we don’t really know the names of many other territories (aside from Galahd, which we _know_ was lost to Niflheim earlier, and the rest of the Cavaugh region that Insomnia is located in), I just went with those ones.
> 
> Also, this isn’t intended to be Ardynoct, even if it looks like it might stray into that territory. (Though if that’s your thing and you want to read it that way, I can’t/won’t stop you.) Ardyn is being a creep because he knows it unsettles Noctis.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr at [prince-noctisluciscaelum](https://prince-noctisluciscaelum.tumblr.com)!


	2. Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Regis negotiate with Ardyn, and Ardyn has yet another unpleasant surprise for them up his many-layered sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to happen in this one, though we're not quite to the really bad tags yet.
> 
> Also many, many thanks to Mokulule for talking me through my doubts with this chapter and for her invaluable help in polishing it.

Regis waited until he knew Noctis had left and would be out of hearing range before he allowed himself to break down. Despite the crushing weight of guilt and sorrow threatening to make him slump to the floor where he stood, he forced himself to move back to his chair before collapsing for the sake of his knee.

When had Noctis grown up? Regis had always known the strength of will harbored in his son, his survival against all odds after the Marilith attack had proven that, but he had shied away from political responsibilities over the last few years, and the harder they had pushed, the more he had drawn away.

Of course Regis was proud of him. Stepping up like this, offering himself in trade for the safety of his people was admirable, but a selfish part of Regis wished that his son had waited just a little bit longer to decide to assume the weight of responsibility for the kingdom.

Regis also dearly wished he could forbid Noctis from following this course of action. To sacrifice his son, to say nothing of the Chosen King, went against everything he had sworn: to Aulea, to his newborn child cradled in his arms, to the Astrals as his eight-year-old son lay still in a coma, to Mors’s grave in defiance of his brand of parenting. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Noctis, but here and now, his hands were tied.

It was bad enough that he had learned Noctis was the Chosen King when his son was only the tender age of five. Watching his precious little boy grow all the while knowing he was destined to sacrifice himself to undo the Astrals’ mistakes was a hardship Regis wouldn’t wish on anyone. The only thing he had been able to cling to was the assumption that Noctis would at least outlive him, would have the opportunity to have as much of a normal life as Regis could give him before he faced his cruel fate. But now it seemed he would not even be given that.

For a moment, Regis entertained the thought of storming up to the Crystal and demanding an audience with the ever-silent Bahamut, camping out in the Crystal chamber until the head of the Astrals deigned to answer him. But he knew, if he got any answer at all, it would be an unsatisfactory one. Regis knew better than anyone that railing against the Astrals had never changed anything. If the pleas of kings and mortals could convince them to change their minds, Noctis’s destiny as the Chosen would have been reversed within the first week of its pronouncement.

Regis knew that he should tell Noctis the full truth of the prophecy and his role in it, and perhaps should have told him years ago. The knowledge might even be enough to sway Noctis’s decision to accept the terms of the chancellor’s treaty, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Noctis was already drowning; Regis didn’t need to add another weight to his son’s shoulders. The decision between saving his kingdom _now_ and saving the world later was a terrible one.

Regis had placated Noctis with the assurances of divine protection, but as Noctis had expressed doubt, Regis himself wasn’t so sure either. Perhaps the reason they hadn’t seemed to care enough to spare them so much as a glance during the months following the Marilith’s attack was simply because they knew Noctis would pull through, but that was a weak excuse as far as Regis was concerned. For all that they professed to need their Chosen King, they seemed to be doing a horrendous job of protecting him.

The faith that had led Regis to place the Carbuncle figurine at Noctis’s bedside had been born of desperation, reaching out in the vain hope that a simple Messenger would answer when the Astrals themselves had not. Regis wished he could find even a fraction of that faith now. Letting Noctis walk away from him forever into the heart of Niflheim would be difficult no matter what, but it would be easier if he knew that he would be safe.

Well, if the Astrals could or would not, Regis would have to do whatever he could in their stead.

Shaking off the lingering outward remains of his grief, Regis looked up the number for the hotel his intelligence division had told him the Imperial delegation was staying at. Usually he wouldn’t be the one making these calls himself, but this was a matter he refused to let anyone else handle.

After getting through the inevitable awkward moment where the flustered hotel employee realized she was talking to the king himself, he requested to be transferred to Chancellor Izunia’s personal room line.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Please hold.”

The hold music was soft and cheery, and Regis hated it. Fortunately, he was not on hold for long.

“Your Majesty. To what do I owe this _unexpected_ pleasure?” The heavy layers of sarcasm and barely-restrained impoliteness that bordered on disrespect made Regis grit his teeth. How someone like Ardyn Izunia had made his way up to the position of chancellor was beyond him.

Regis drew on every bit of innate and learned patience he had to keep his reactions under control. It was aggravating enough that Izunia managed to get under Regis’s skin at all. He dealt with despicable politicians on a regular basis, so he didn’t understand what was so different about the chancellor. But he could not allow himself to be distracted by his distaste for the man. He would only get one opportunity for this, and he had to make the most of it.

“You told my son that you would not accept a treaty that did not include taking Noctis,” Regis said, not interested in wasting time with pleasantries. He didn’t know if he could keep his tight control on his emotions if the conversation dragged on for too long.

“I believe I did, yes.” Regis could hear the mocking smile in Izunia’s voice, and he clenched his jaw.

“And you are not willing to reconsider this?”

“No.” For all the chancellor’s typical theatrics and melodramatic attitude, there was biting steel in his response. Regis closed his eyes, barely suppressing a sigh in time.

“Very well. We will negotiate with you,” Regis said. “And we will do it properly, but I want one thing to be discussed outside of my son’s hearing.”

The chancellor paused for the space of a breath before responding.

“You have me intrigued.”

This was it, his only chance to help right the wrongs born of his incapability to protect Noctis properly, in whatever small way he could manage. It would never be enough.

“I want a ‘no harm’ clause written into the terms for Niflheim’s custody of Noctis.” It was a long shot, and he hadn’t wanted to ignite false hope in Noctis, especially when he seemed to already accept the possibility of execution, a thought that broke Regis’s heart, but he had to try.

The chancellor sucked in a breath. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice saturated with false apology.

Regis closed his eyes, his heart sinking. It was one thing to suspect it, an entirely different thing to have it confirmed in such a blatant way. He cursed Noctis’s sudden surge of selflessness, and his perception, and most of all this poor excuse for a chancellor who had put the idea in Noctis’s head in the first place.

“I will, however, agree to a ‘no execution’ clause, if that will satisfy you?”

Regis had to bite back a sharp retort unbefitting of a king. That was unquestionably _worse_. He would be handing Noctis over to torment without the release of death, and even with this new development, he still had doubts that the Astrals would step in to save him. If Noctis was unable to fulfill his destiny, it was more likely they would simply let humanity be destroyed and the Star consumed by the Scourge.

And yet, there was no way he could ever reject a promise that Noctis would not be killed. It might be selfish of him, simply wanting to know that his child was alive even if he was suffering. But if he was alive, there was always a chance, for rescue, for escape, for mercy, and there was none if he was dead, so as much as this counteroffer was a mockery, he would grasp desperately at anything he was given.

Regis gave himself a moment to control his emotions before speaking, knowing that Izunia must have noticed the hesitation. “It is hardly satisfactory, but I will accept it.”

“Very good. I will return in two days’ time to complete the negotiations ‘properly,’ as you say.”

They exchanged stilted pleasantries - things Regis was sure were not meant on either side but were required by the social rules governing interactions between foreign dignitaries - before hanging up, and Regis was hard pressed not to fling his phone across the room. He dropped it onto his desk instead, the clatter not nearly enough to satisfy his childish urge to _break something_ , and ran a hand over his face.

That hadn’t gone half as well as he had hoped. And he _had_ hoped, despite knowing that he shouldn’t. Now the only thing he could wish for was that he hadn’t made things worse for Noctis.

It really hit him then, exactly what this meant, what was going to happen. He was going to lose his son, and it probably wouldn’t make a difference for his kingdom in the long run. Even if Niflheim honored the treaty for now, even with Scientia as king after him, Lucis would fall.

Regis hung his head, letting the guilt settle over him for a self-pitying moment before shaking it off and raising his phone again. He dialed in one of the handful of numbers he still knew by heart. It only rang once, despite the late hour.

“Your Majesty?”

“Cor, I need you to come home, _now_.”

* * *

Noctis fidgeted with the hem of his suit jacket as he stood to the right of his dad’s throne, waiting for the chancellor to arrive. He knew he shouldn’t be displaying any signs of nervousness, even though none of the Imperial delegation were yet present, but he found he couldn’t help himself.

He glanced over at his dad, sitting regally on his throne, his body as still as the statues of their ancestors that graced the entrance hallway of the Citadel. His face was carefully neutral, just the barest hint of the haughty superiority Regis adopted when he was in distasteful negotiations with someone he disliked. It was an expression Noctis desperately wanted to learn how to imitate.

Clarus stood to Regis’s left, mirroring Noctis’s position. The elder Shield was rigid in his stillness, only his eyes carefully roving the room in search of anything out of place, even though it was still occupied only by the Council and a few members of the Crownsguard.

Even with Clarus so nearby, Noctis felt oddly exposed. Of course, if anything happened, Clarus’s first responsibility would be to Regis, not Noctis, and it was Noctis’s own fault that his own Shield wasn’t present, and in fact didn’t even know what was happening today.

It had been a difficult but tactically sound decision to keep Gladio and Ignis uninformed of the deal about to be struck with Niflheim. Of course they knew negotiations were happening; the entire kingdom was aware of that. But Noctis knew they, and Prompto, would attempt to dissuade him, and his own resolve was weak enough that he knew they would be successful in their efforts.

That didn’t stop him from wanting Gladio at his back and Ignis at his side, even though he knew the chancellor would not and could not harm him here. Part of him even wanted Prompto waiting in the wings with a sniper rifle, though he didn’t actually want the newest member of his Crownsguard anywhere near that snake of a chancellor. He hadn’t actually inducted Prompto for the protection he would bring to Noctis, despite his almost unnatural affinity for firearms and the fact that Noctis trusted him more than anyone aside from the rest of his small retinue, but it had rather been a way to keep his best friend close and under what protection the Crown could give him, as a Niflheim refugee. And an, albeit roundabout, way to finally be able to financially support him, considering his self-sufficient streak had rejected all but the smallest of gifts Noctis had tried to give him over the years.

Noctis realized his mind was wandering in an effort to distract him from what was coming. And as much as he would like to keep himself distracted and not think about any of it, he knew he really should be paying attention. Even though he was not spearheading the Lucian side of the negotiations, he didn’t want to miss anything that was said. The chancellor had already proven to be manipulative, and he didn’t want any double meanings or cleverly worded loopholes to slip by.

He tamped down an instinctive jerk as the doors to the throne room slammed open to reveal the chancellor, still clad in far too many layers and that ridiculous hat. Immediately, his eyes locked onto Noctis, and he had to resist the urge to fidget under that gaze.

The chancellor swept his hat off his head and dipped into a mocking facsimile of a bow.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me again so soon, Your Majesty, Your Highness.” He stood straight again and flickered his gaze between Regis and Noctis as he spoke their respective titles. He lingered on Noctis for a moment longer before turning his attention, almost reluctantly if Noctis wasn’t reading too much into it, back to his dad.

Despite his best intentions and his incredibly personal stake in the matter, Noctis found it hard to focus on the ensuing negotiations. His dad opened with another plea to reconsider Noctis’s involvement in the bargain, which, as they had known he would, the chancellor shot down immediately.

After that, the bartering was unexpectedly short. Regis surprised Noctis by starting with a demand for the return of _all_ the conquered territories, not just the ones they had discussed two days prior. And though he should have expected it and, honestly, agreed with it, he still bristled at the chancellor’s laugh and his comment that Noctis “wasn’t worth _quite_ that much, Your Majesty.”

“Just testing the waters, Chancellor, since you seem so desperate to take possession of the crown prince.”

Noctis didn’t need to look at Regis to know the exact expression on his face. A slight twist to the corner of his lip, not quite a smirk, but just as smug. It was the look he got when he knew he had some upstart politician’s game figured and was calling them on it. It was meant to shake their confidence and force them into playing their hand too early. Both Noctis and Regis knew the chancellor was better seasoned than to fall for such a simple tactic, but anything they could do to tip the scales in their favor was worth trying.

They haggled their way down to the original list of territories Noctis had suggested to his dad. The chancellor made a show of considering it before glancing at Noctis and, to his shock, agreeing. His smile was too wide, showing off too many teeth, and Noctis shivered.

There was no way the chancellor knew the details of Noctis’s initial suggestion, nor that he had even made one in the first place. It had to be a coincidence, the smile just the chancellor’s answer to Regis’s earlier expression. But Noctis couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow intentionally acquiescing to Noctis’s own offer.

What followed that was a long, tedious discussion of terms, the details and specifics of everything that was changing hands, and the exact nature of the truce. This was where Noctis had trouble paying attention, too focused on the thoughts of, _this is really happening._ He had been traded to Niflheim for four territories, which was honestly more than he’d been expecting, and while he knew he should be pleased about it, it was all he could do to process the fact that he would likely never see his 21st birthday.

He stole a glance at Regis, and though he could see the tension in his jaw, he was amazed at how calmly his dad was handling this. For a moment, his insecurities reared their heads, whispering that maybe Regis was _glad_ to be rid of him, his embarrassment of an heir, and now that Noctis would be out of the way, he could name someone more suited for the task to the role of crown prince. But Noctis buried those thoughts under the memory of his dad’s tears and his fingers in his hair.

Regis’s façade faltered for just a moment when they reached the terms surrounding Noctis’s situation, and that finished killing his doubts about his dad’s true feelings on the issue. He managed to focus back on the discussion, despite the sick feeling in his stomach, but nothing was said that he hadn’t already known or suspected. Prisoner of war, custody of Niflheim, lack of any sort of rights or personal freedoms including the freedom of movement…

Nothing was said about execution, one way or the other, but he figured even the chancellor with his general disregard for social norms would realize that that would be in bad taste while in his dad’s throne room. Noctis just hoped they would make it quick whenever they got around to it. He didn’t know much about Niflheim’s views on the death penalty, nor their preferred methods, and though he knew it would do nothing to settle his nerves, he suspected he would be unable to prevent himself from looking into it sometime between the end of this meeting and when he was handed over to Niflheim.

He felt eyes on him and looked up to meet the chancellor’s amused gaze. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to glare back at him.

“Well then, now that these negotiations have come to a successful conclusion, it is time for us to take our leave.” He turned fully to face Noctis for the first time instead of just turning his head to look at him and held out a hand. “Prince Noctis?”

Noctis’s heart stopped.

“Now?” he gasped, at the same time as Regis protested.

“No! I will not turn over the crown prince to you until the treaty has been signed.”

The chancellor threw Regis a sharp, dismissive smile before turning his attention back to Noctis.

“Yes, now, Your Highness. I will not give your father the opportunity to spirit you away or risk you getting cold feet about this. It is now or never. Come, before I change my mind about so graciously accepting your counter terms. Consider this a… downpayment.”

It took Noctis a long moment to force his feet to move. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to not have the opportunity to prepare, to say his goodbyes, to apologize to Ignis and give him his blessing to take his place as the heir to the throne. To explain to Prompto why he had to do it. To thank Gladio and charge him with protecting Ignis in his stead.

He glanced at his dad, who gave him a strained smile, and it was enough to give Noctis the courage he needed to take the first step.

Never had the staircase down from the throne seemed so long and yet so short, as each step, carefully watched by all the eyes in the room, carried him closer to the chancellor and his unknown but undoubtedly unpleasant plans for Noctis.

He stopped several steps away from the chancellor, unwilling to get closer, but the man wasn’t having it. Noctis somehow managed to hold his ground as he invaded his personal space for the second time in several days. The chancellor took hold of Noctis’s chin and raised his head, and oh wasn’t this a lovely repetition of the encounter in the hallway. Noctis bared his teeth at him, only just holding back a defiant snarl.

“Oh, you are stunning, aren’t you? I’ll be sure not to mar your pretty face,” he murmured, quietly enough Noctis was sure he was the only one who heard it. Anxiety coiled in his stomach. It had been too much to hope that he would just be locked up somewhere and forgotten, or executed the moment he was brought to Niflheim. Of _course_ the chancellor was going to torture him.

“I can’t say the same about yours,” Noctis hissed back, keeping his voice just as quiet.

The chancellor threw his head back and laughed. “Such spirit! Oh, this is going to be _fun_.” He let go of Noctis’s chin. “Kneel.”

Noctis froze, hoping he hadn’t heard correctly. The quiet murmuring of his dad’s Council around him assured him he had.

“What?” He wasn’t sure he had even made a sound.

“You are surrendering yourself as a prisoner of war. I want your vows. Kneel.”

“Chancellor Izunia, this is not necessary!” His dad’s words thundered through the throne room, partially carried on the raw power of his voice, partially thanks to the specific acoustics of the room.

“Oh, but it is, Your Majesty. If he cannot bring himself to obey in this small thing, then I cannot be assured of his cooperation going forward.”

Noctis felt sick. This was too much, too fast, and his hatred of the chancellor was growing by the minute. But they were trapped. He had signed up for this when he had agreed to terms with Niflheim, and now this was the first test to see if he was capable of holding to his word.

Slowly, as slowly as he could without losing his balance, he lowered himself to one knee in front of the chancellor. It rankled. He had never bowed to any man save his dad, and he was _above_ this jester masquerading as a chancellor. That he was forced to do it in front of his dad and the Council just made it worse.

There wasn’t a script for this, but he had taken enough oaths and had enough oaths sworn to him that he knew the cadences of the language expected from something like this.

“I, Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum,” because he refused to give up his title even now, “hereby surrender myself as a prisoner of war to Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, in accordance with the terms of the peace treaty between the Kingdom of Lucis and the Niflheim Empire.” The words tasted like bile in his throat, and he spat them out with the same vehemence.

He kept his head up, holding eye contact with the chancellor the entire time as a show of defiance. He may be on his knees, but he would never bow. May be a prisoner, but he would never yield.

“That wasn’t so hard.” The chancellor smiled, and Noctis shivered. “Give me your hands.”

Noctis complied warily, heart sinking as the chancellor pulled out a pair of handcuffs. That _really_ wasn’t necessary. Hadn’t he just sworn a vow on his knees? Granted, it hadn’t been in front of the Crystal, and Noctis was in control of his thoughts enough to be grateful that the chancellor didn’t know enough about their customs or their magic to insist that it be done in a more binding way. As long as his oaths weren’t sealed by the Crystal’s magic, he had some leeway.

Noctis barely had time to notice the faint red glow of the handcuffs, not enough time to protest, before the chancellor snapped them closed around his wrists. He gasped as he slammed into stasis, the sudden lack of magic like a void clawing inside his chest. The chancellor released his grip on his wrists, and Noctis slumped to the floor at his feet, dizzy and lacking the strength to keep himself upright.

“Noctis!” The terror in his dad’s voice was enough to give him the will to push himself back to his knees, but the aching pressure in his chest made speaking impossible, as much as he wanted to reassure his dad that he was physically fine.

Before he could catch his breath, the chancellor beat him to it. “Merely a precaution. I can’t have him warping away or accessing any of the weapons he most assuredly has stashed in that... what do you call it? Armiger? of his.”

It was difficult to breathe around the empty space in his chest, but Noctis managed once he concentrated on it. He knew stasis didn’t actually have any physical effect on his body, but with the Crystal’s magic so deeply entwined with his blood since birth, it _felt_ like it did.

He’d asked a Kingsglaive once what stasis felt like to her. She’d said it made her feel a little tired, or drained, and magical exhaustion could make her pass out if she used too much too fast and too often, but nothing like what Noctis felt, and she had frowned and shook her head when he’d described the void in his chest. Regis had later confirmed that as Lucis Caelums, directly and divinely connected to the flow of the Crystal’s magic, they felt the lack of it much more strongly than anyone simply borrowing it.

This was his first experience with prolonged stasis. Usually by now, with his lack of activity, the magic would have started to trickle back, but now there was nothing, no hint of the stasis letting up, and panic settled in alongside the emptiness in his chest.

He lost control of his careful breathing, all his previous work undone as he started gasping again. He was getting lightheaded, and he felt on the verge of passing out, and wouldn’t _that_ just be the icing on the cake?

A rustle of cloth and the chancellor was crouched next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other wrapped around his arm. It felt more like a restraint than any source of stability like it was probably intended, and yet, almost against his will, it _did_ help ground him.

“Breathe, Noctis,” the chancellor murmured against his ear. “You will get used to it.”

He opened his mouth to protest that he didn’t _want_ to get used to it, and he shuddered as he finally managed to take in a full breath that felt like it actually contained oxygen.

“That’s it. Wouldn’t want you to faint now, would we? Then I’d have to carry you out of here, and I imagine you would not enjoy that.”

Noctis didn’t dignify that with a response, though he privately agreed that no, he would _not_ enjoy that _at all_ , and instead focused again on gaining control over his breath, closing his eyes and trying to pretend that the chancellor’s hands on him were his dad’s or Ignis’s, grounding him as he came down from a panic attack.

The chancellor gave him a few more moments to recover before standing. He yanked him to his feet with him with the hand wrapped around his arm. Noctis almost stumbled into him, thrown off balance by the sudden change in position and the lack of magic.

He could feel the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks, and he carefully avoided looking at anyone in the room as the chancellor swept the hat off his head and gave Regis a deep, mocking bow, keeping a firm grip on Noctis’s arm as he did so.

“These negotiations have been a pleasure, Your Majesty. The Emperor and,” Noctis felt the chancellor’s eyes on him briefly, “ _perhaps_ myself, if I am not otherwise occupied, will be back to sign the treaty with the terms negotiated today.”

Shivers coursed up and down Noctis’s spine at that, and he resisted the urge to fight against the chancellor’s grip as he was turned toward the throne room’s exit. He refused to look back, not wanting to see his dad’s reaction, needing the memory of his dad’s smile, weak though it had been, to be his last image of him, not whatever horrified expression he was sure was on his face now.

The guards at the door hesitated just a moment before opening it for them, their eyes skipping from the chancellor to Noctis and back, their faces stricken. Noctis looked down to avoid seeing it.

 _What good are_ **_guards_ ** _if they can’t protect you?_ he thought bitterly, even though he knew it absolutely wasn’t their fault.

He was dragged out of the throne room and through the Citadel’s halls, the familiar surroundings feeling oddly foreign. They periodically passed patrols of Crownsguard and Kingsglaive, who all froze at the sight of them but avoided Noctis’s eyes. He was sure they had all been apprised of the situation immediately upon the chancellor taking custody of Noctis or else they would have interfered in a heartbeat.

For a moment, he fantasized about encountering a team who had somehow _not_ heard, and how they would just see their prince being kidnapped and rush in to rescue him, and maybe the chancellor would end up dead and they could renegotiate with the Empire for something _other_ than him. Even though he knew logically that the chancellor of Niflheim ending up dead while inside the Citadel would make things _so much worse_ , it didn’t change how much he wanted it to happen.

They made it to the lobby of the Citadel without incident, despite Noctis’s hopes, and he couldn’t help digging in his heels at the sight of the doors. The chancellor turned to him, huffing in exasperation at the delay. Noctis glanced up at the statues of the past kings, taking strength from them. What did they think of what was about to befall the last of their line?

If this was to be his last chance to make a stand on Lucian soil, here under the watchful marble gazes of his ancestors, he was going to take it.

“If you renege on the treaty,” Noctis growled, “I will do everything in my power to fight you. I will rip your throat out with my teeth and tear your empire down with my bare hands.”

The chancellor smiled indulgently, like he was amused at Noctis’s ire.

“There will be no need for such drastic measures, my dear Noct.” He leaned in to brush a finger against Noctis’s jaw, and he jerked away from the touch. Really, what _was_ this guy’s deal with him?

He didn’t resist when the chancellor tugged on his arm again and led him the rest of the way through the lobby, but Noctis hesitated as he took the first step past the Citadel’s doors. That was… a large crowd. He had known, in a detached sort of way, that these kinds of things drew in the media and the more curious citizens, but he hadn’t expected the plaza to be _this_ crowded.

He caught a glimpse of the projection screens, showing him kneeling to the chancellor before the cameras switched to a live feed of him standing there, shell shocked. He hadn’t known there were _cameras in the throne room!_ There weren’t supposed to be, at least not any that could be accessed without the absolute highest level of clearance, clearance that even _Noctis_ didn’t have.

“Don’t look so surprised, Noct,” the chancellor murmured against his ear. “I barely had to bribe a guard to get him to capture that footage. Some of your citizens are more than happy to see your family taken down a peg or two.”

He watched the chancellor lean in close to him on the screens, his words thankfully too quiet for any of the cameras to pick up. The whole situation was humiliating enough without _that_ being broadcast.

He didn’t bother resisting as he was led down the first flight of stairs, the chancellor’s hand on his elbow. His skin crawled at the touch, light though it was.

He hated that this was how Ignis and Gladio and Prompto were going to learn. He had been hoping to tell them privately, after all the terms and negotiations had been finalized and they could no longer talk him out of it. Instead, they would have to watch the footage of him _kneeling_ , of him being escorted out of the Citadel by the chancellor, bound, and they wouldn’t understand why. He wouldn’t be able to explain it to them, why he _had_ to do it, and why he hadn’t told them sooner.

He blinked back tears, all of it suddenly too much, and his steps faltered just before the second flight. The chancellor hesitated with him, his amber eyes seeking out Noctis’s face for a moment before they flashed with the most pure hatred Noctis had ever seen.

Before Noctis could even register what was happening, the chancellor’s hand was gone from his elbow, and he was shoved sharply in the back. He lost his footing and tumbled forward with a cry. He tumbled down the stairs, each impact jarring his spine, and he instinctively raised his hands to protect his head.

The taste of copper flooded his mouth as he collided with the ground at the bottom of the stairs, momentum sending him rolling a few feet beyond the last step. Pain lanced through him as he lay there staring up at the faraway glimmer of the Wall above him, his right wrist throbbing, and each gasping breath sending aching stabs through his chest. He must have broken at least one rib.

The square was silent now, in the wake of his fall, and he noticed the lack of sound more than he ever had the normal background noise of the crowd. The silence was almost oppressive in its loudness. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears in the sudden unnatural stillness.

Noctis groaned as he rolled over, the movement sparking new pain throughout his body. He tried to push himself up without putting weight on what was probably a sprained wrist, but with his hands cuffed together, it was difficult. It was also difficult to ignore the eyes and cameras of the gathered citizens and media as they watched him struggle, and he cursed the chancellor for putting him in this position.

There was suddenly a hand in his vision, covered in the fingerless glove of a Glaive. Noctis looked up to see Nyx Ulric crouched next to him, offering a hand up. Relief and gratitude flooded him. Noctis gave a short nod, and Nyx reached for his arm only to stiffen and draw back. Noctis looked up in alarm.

The chancellor stood over them, dagger in hand, and the tip of the blade rested against Nyx’s throat.

“No,” Noctis gasped. “Please no.” He had surrendered to save the lives of the Glaives, of his people. He could not watch another one die just because of his loyalty to him.

“You will not touch him,” the chancellor said. “He is Imperial property now.” Noctis shivered, wanting to protest but knowing it was basically true. And he didn’t want to provoke the man.

There was an apology in Nyx’s eyes as he looked down at Noctis before standing and slowly walking backwards to his post. He settled back into parade rest at the foot of the stairs, but kept his gaze on Noctis.

“A hand, Highness?”

Noctis considered the merits of spitting at the chancellor before deciding that would be incredibly stupid. Instead he just ignored the mocking, outstretched hand and pushed himself up to his knees and then his feet on his own, gritting his teeth at the pain. He had twisted his bad knee in the fall too, and his nerves were shooting pain up his leg and into his back as he tried to stand, traveling the path the Marilith’s claws had taken over a decade ago.

“Not from you,” he growled. He favored his left leg, shying away as the chancellor reached out for him. He couldn’t move fast enough, however, and the chancellor’s hand tangled in Noctis’s hair, wrenching his head back. Noctis cried out.

“Your pride will do you little favors, princeling,” he hissed, and this time Noctis heard his words repeated back over the speakers. But he wasn’t given time to be embarrassed as the chancellor abandoned his hair in favor of gripping the back of his neck and shoving him forward towards the waiting car.

Noctis’s panic spiked. All his training in avoiding abduction was kicking in, warnings echoing in the back of his mind in an odd mixture of Gladio and Cor’s voices.

_Never allow yourself to be moved to a secondary location. Do whatever you can to draw attention to the situation. Call for aid in any way you can without getting yourself or civilians killed. Don’t hesitate to use lethal force. Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive._

None of that was going to help him here. The whole of Insomnia was aware of his situation, half the city’s population watching it play out meters away from them, and there was nothing he or any of them could do, not without condemning the kingdom.

Noctis stumbled as he was forced towards the car at a faster pace than his injured leg would have liked, and he was unable to completely bite back the sob as his back twinged.

The chancellor’s hand was unexpectedly on his back, palm pressed directly over the intersection of his spine and the scars, and Noctis yelped, trying to shy away from the touch. He was stopped by the chancellor’s sudden grip on his arm.

“Is your back hurting you?” he asked, false concern layered thickly in his voice. “You have no idea how _pleased_ I am that that particular attempt on your life was unsuccessful.”

“Why should you care?” Noctis growled through gritted teeth. “It’s not like I’m going to survive much past the trip back to Gralea.”

The chancellor clicked his tongue at him, shaking his head. “Oh, did your father not tell you? I am under a sworn oath to not let you die in my care.” The almost friendly smile was directly in contrast to the sharp gleam in the chancellor’s eyes, and Noctis was suddenly nauseous. That condition had not been discussed, not with the chancellor in the throne room, and not at any point between Noctis and Regis. When and why had his dad negotiated that?

“What?” There was no way this was _good_ for him. The chances of escape or rescue were practically nothing, considering he had turned _himself_ over for the sake of his kingdom. All this would do would ensure a life of captivity with no easy way out, and he doubted the Empire would go out of their way to make his stay a pleasant one, especially considering the flash of hate the chancellor had directed at him before pushing him down the stairs.

“It would be a shame to waste your life in such a way. You will not be executed, as much as the esteemed Emperor Aldercapt might wish it.”

Noctis suddenly wondered if maybe it had been the _chancellor_ who had initiated that negotiation, locking in his own desire to keep Noctis alive for… whatever nefarious reason he wanted him - and Noctis was trying not to think too hard about that - under the guise of it being a condition set down by Regis. None of what had been negotiated today had benefited _Niflheim_ so much as it had the _chancellor_ , and it was beginning to seem like the chancellor was acting independent of the Empire he claimed to represent. If he had Ignis’s mind for political maneuvering, Noctis thought he might already be working on a way to use that division to his advantage, but even if he wasn’t lacking in that particular department, his mind was too fuzzy with pain and fear to focus on delicate planning.

The chancellor used his distraction to herd him closer to the car, and before Noctis realized it, the door was open and he was being shoved into the backseat, the chancellor’s hand on the top of his head to prevent him from whacking it on the doorframe. He refused to be grateful for the consideration and instead gritted his teeth at being treated like a common criminal being loaded into the back of a police car.

The seats were smooth black leather, and for half a second he contemplated sliding across the seat and tumbling out the other door, but there really was nowhere for him to go, and there was no point in publicly humiliating himself any more than he already had been. He would cling to whatever shred of dignity he had left and hope that his people would acknowledge his sacrifice instead of focusing on the embarrassing way he had been manhandled. He hoped they knew that he had willingly done this for them, that their last impression of him would be something noble, if it couldn’t be positive. He didn’t want to be remembered as a useless, incompetent prince who was just thrown away, traded off as a bargaining chip at the first opportunity.

Noctis flinched as the chancellor slipped into the backseat with him. He glowered at him. He had expected him to take the front passenger seat, but apparently he wasn’t even going to be given the reprieve of that small amount of distance from the man. He tried to scoot across to the seat behind the driver, to put a little space between them, but the chancellor caught his arm to keep him where he was.

The chancellor turned away from him for a moment to slam the door shut, and the locks on all the doors clicked; the sounds felt very final to Noctis. The chancellor let go of his arm as soon as the car was secured, and Noctis wasted no time in putting that desired space between them.

As much as he didn’t want to take his eyes off the chancellor, once the car started rolling he couldn’t help but stare out the window, trying to catch one last glimpse of the Citadel before it was irrevocably behind him. His heart ached as he was driven away from it. Even though he had often felt trapped behind its towering walls, the Citadel was still _home_ , still held his heart in a way that even his apartment, as much as he loved it and the freedom it offered him, never could.

The cameras were still following his progress, the car’s retreat displayed on the screens, and Noctis was grateful that the windows were tinted enough that the cameras couldn’t pick up the longing stare on his face through them.

He flinched again when the chancellor suddenly leaned over him, his grin sharp, but he simply reached for the seatbelt and secured it around Noctis.

“Can’t have anything happen to you before we reach Gralea, now can we?” he murmured into Noctis’s ear, and Noctis shivered as his breath ghosted across his skin. He turned his head away.

The chancellor laughed quietly and withdrew from Noctis’s space. The reprieve was short-lived, however, as he soon reached across the backseat, a small, uncapped bottle in his hand.

“Drink this.” Noct glared first at the unmarked bottle then at the chancellor’s face.

“No.” He was tempted to knock it out of the chancellor’s hand, but he suspected that he would just produce another one from somewhere.

“Drink this, or I will make you.”

“What is it?” Noctis didn’t really expect an answer, but he still had to ask.

“So distrustful, Noct.” His tone was almost playful. “It’s not poison.”

Noctis nearly rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think it was. You’re not allowed to kill me, remember?” There were still plenty of unsavory things it could be, and Noctis would never trust anything offered to him by that man.

“It will not harm you, I give you my word.” The chancellor held his free hand up to his heart. This time Noctis _did_ roll his eyes. Being annoyed was less unpleasant than being scared.

“Not that I’d ever trust your word,” he muttered, but he sighed and nodded. He really did doubt that it was going to hurt him, it was most likely a sedative or something similar, but it was the principle of the thing.

“I can do it myself,” he snarled as the chancellor held the bottle up to his lips. He was _not_ going to let him feed it to him; what was left of his pride couldn’t take that.

The chancellor shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

It was awkward with his bound hands, but he managed to drink it without spilling. The taste of it didn’t tell him anything. It was like water but slightly bitter, not a flavor he was familiar with or had ever had described to him in safety briefings. In a fit of childish rebellion, he chucked the empty bottle at the chancellor, who unfortunately caught it effortlessly with a grin.

The fatigue hit Noctis suddenly. He slumped a little in his seat, and even though he had been expecting something like this, he started panicking. As horrible as spending the entire journey to Niflheim with the chancellor would be, being _unconscious_ around him would be much worse.

He tried to fight it, but it was becoming progressively more difficult to reopen his eyes each time he blinked. His breathing turned into gasps, and it was like the throne room all over again when the chancellor slid closer to him, a hand on his arm.

“Hush, Noctis. Relax, you’re safe for now.” Awareness slipped from Noctis despite his best efforts, and a sob escaped as the chancellor guided his drooping head to rest against his shoulder, an arm snaking around his shoulders to hold him in a poor imitation of a comforting gesture.

“Sleep well. We’ll be in Gralea before you wake up.” Noctis thought he felt fingers brush his hair away from his eyes, but he was too far out of it to be sure.

He was asleep before they reached the Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn is fine with the counter offer because he knows Niflheim doesn’t intend to honor the treaty anyways, like in canon, so what does it matter? He just wants an opportunity to mess with Noctis and the Astrals.
> 
> He’s also a creepy, slimy bastard, and I’ve been having a lot of fun writing him.
> 
> This chapter has [art](https://mokulule.tumblr.com/post/629469611308597248/with-your-head-held-high-chapter-1)! Courtesy of the wonderful Mokulule.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr at [prince-noctisluciscaelum](https://prince-noctisluciscaelum.tumblr.com)!


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